


side-effects

by aohatsu



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Dubious Consent, Hiding Medical Issues, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, M/M, Sex Pollen, Something Made Them Do It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:35:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25769023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aohatsu/pseuds/aohatsu
Summary: After Peter is infected with sex pollen, after they have a not-so-fun sex marathon, Tony is in a little bit of pain.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Comments: 5
Kudos: 101
Collections: Battleship 2020, Battleship 2020 - Red Team





	side-effects

**Author's Note:**

  * For [intoxicatelou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/intoxicatelou/gifts).



Tony grits his teeth through the pain as he tightens a screw manually on the undercarriage of the convertible he's been working on. Technically, he doesn't need to be under the car, straining his body, gritting his teeth through the pain.

But he did need to be in the lab, pretending everything was fine and that there was no pain to speak of, and it helps that under the car, Peter can't see his face every time he moves wrong and pain shoots up his ass and back and back down through his thighs.

He's never been fucked quite as thoroughly as the kid had managed the day before, the two of them stranded with some sort of _fuck me_ vine spitting it's fuck me pollen all over the both of them.

It hadn't effected Tony overly much; just made him a bit hot under the collar. The locals consider it an aphrodisiac and it's apparently tradition to take a whiff on your wedding night. 

Peter though... Peter had burned up, so hot he'd been stumbling with it, and so desperate to get his cock wet that he'd wanted it in the nearest hole he could find. Which had, at the time, been Tony.

He'd let the kid fuck him, against his better judgement, because Peter had been burning up and so, so desperate for it, and quick confirmation with FRIDAY said that he _was_ desperate, _was_ burning up, so much so that he was going to die if he didn't get relief then and there, no second chances. 

Tony, who's ashamed to admit he's thought about the kid in his bed on plenty of lonely occasions in the past, had been oh-so-willing to bend over and take whatever the kid felt like giving him.

Problem: the kid could, apparently, give more Tony was able to take.

And once he'd started, Peter hadn't been able to stop. He'd fucked him, again and again, over and over, and it'd been hot at first, pleasurable until the second orgasm, something Tony could work with if needed until the third, and absolute torture by the fourth, and the fifth, and sixth--

He's too old, these days, for that sort of thing. 

It had been pretty fucking painful for a while, enough that Tony actually blacked out a good portion of it by the end.

Peter'd come to, eventually, and Tony had been weak, bruised, bleeding a bit, and Peter had shook as he dragged him back to the compound--going so far as to fly the quinjet, and hey, the kid didn't crash into a building, so that's a success they need to celebrate later. 

Tony had, of course, by the time they'd gotten back to the compound, woken up to the fact that the kid blamed himself.

Which was not going to be happening.

So he shrugged it off, grinned through the pain, and said, "Kid, come on. We both had the sex pollen of doom, and trust me, I enjoyed it as much as you did. I'm fine. We're fine."

Tony was not, in fact, fine.

His lower back feels like someone took a hammer to his lumbar region; he can still feel dull, aching pressure everywhere Peter had dug his fingers into his skin, leaving big, dark bruises all over Tony's back, stomach, hips and thighs. 

He thinks Peter might have fucked him hard enough that it's possible he needs to be checked out. Something may have torn from sheer wear and tear, which is great to think about. A spasm of pain shoots up from his ass whenever he squirms slightly to the left.

But Peter needs to see Tony acting like nothing's wrong, like he's perfectly fine and uninjured, because Peter did nothing wrong. The kid couldn't do anything wrong, and this was Tony's damn fault for letting the kid be exposed to a _magic sex flower_ anyway. 

"Kid, hand me a wrench," he yells, though he doesn't need one. 

God, he just kind of wants to lay there under the car and go to sleep.

"Uh, okay, Mr. Stark," comes Peter's voice, shaking yet clearly hopeful that everything is really alright, that he didn't hurt his mentor.

Tony groans, just under his breath.

He gets a wrench, and then slides out from under the car long enough to narrow his eyes and say, "Hey, aren't you supposed to be heading home soon? Where's Happy? Did you forget to call Happy? Because you know I didn't remember."

He slides back under the car, breathing through his nose. 

Fuck, his back hurts. 

Peter sucks in a breath, and then he must be sitting down next to the car's tire his voice is so close. "I told Aunt May I was staying here? Because I want--I want to make sure that you're really okay."

Ah, shit. 

Tony had been relying on the fact that Peter would be gone soon and he wouldn't have to keep up this charade for much longer.

He winces, takes a deep breath, and then slides back out from under the car. He says, "A little stiff, maybe. Help an old man up, underoos," and holds out a hand. Peter scrambles to pull Tony up to his feet (and what Tony wouldn't give for super strength and healing sometimes).

He hisses through the sting of the sudden change of position, tensing his back and clenching. He holds up a finger and says, before Peter can burst into apologies again, "I'm just stiff. Sex marathons are hard work, okay? But I'm fine. You didn't hurt me. Go order us a pizza or something."

Peter runs from the room, eager to do as he's told. Tony shuffles uncomfortably to the elevator himself, heavily tempted to grab a bottle of scotch on his way to the compound living room. He doesn't. That would give away that he's in pain as much as anything else will.

He sits, carefully leaning to one side, on the couch. 

"Okay, pizza's coming!" Peter yells, coming in the room. He fidgets, staring at Tony. "Can I get you anything else?"

"Kid," Tony starts, before Peter interrupts.

"Mr. Stark, I get it. It wasn't my fault." His face clearly says he doesn't believe what he's saying. "But I still hurt you, so you're still uncomfortable and in pain, so please stop pretending you're not and let me help you." The words seem to burst out of him, his eyes wide and desperately close to tears all over again. 

Fuck, Tony hates it when the kid cries. 

"Yeah, alright. Tylenol. Bathroom cabinet." He takes a second, and then says, "and a damn pillow." 

If he spends the evening sitting on one of Bruce's donut shaped pillows, half-asleep on the kid's shoulder while old episodes of Star Trek play in the background, well, nobody is telling.


End file.
